


Strung

by awaytobeunshaken



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21686896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awaytobeunshaken/pseuds/awaytobeunshaken
Summary: Paul Stamets is auditioning for a new guitarist for his band,Mycelial Network. Hugh Culber just needs a job. Although a job playing with an artist he's idolized for years would be a nice bonus.
Relationships: Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	Strung

Paul leaned back in his chair as he waited for the next candidate to take the stage. A week in, his search was starting to seem hopeless. He didn’t blame Tyler for quitting, not really. Ever since he’d gotten married, Paul had been waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to want to settle down. Still, the short notice had really put them in a bind. And a lot of the people he’d seen so far weren’t bad. They could play, for the most part; some of them were even really good, but no one so far had quite been able to capture  _ Mycelial Network’s  _ energy the way that Tyler had.

He looked up to see the guy already on stage, plugging in his guitar, and he hoped his sudden intake of breath wasn’t audible. He was wearing a tight, white T-shirt with a leather vest, and jeans that might as well have been painted on. He almost seemed to be moving in slow motion as he stood and checked his fingering. And when he looked up, his bright smile pierced right through Paul like a knife. The first notes washed over him, breaking him out of his trance. Right, stop gawking, you horny idiot, Paul told himself. You’re supposed to be concerned with how he sounds, not how he looks.

He recognized the tune almost immediately. It was one of his older songs, one that Paul was surprised the man had even heard before, much less knew how to play. This guy wasn’t just after any old gig; he was a fan. Which had the potential to make things awkward, but he was clearly serious about the music as well; his playing captured the essence of something that even Paul himself had almost forgotten.

***

Hugh wasn’t trying to show off by pulling out something so obscure, though he immediately realized it could come across that way. He’d been following Paul Stamets’ various projects since he first saw him play at a little club in Philly, where Hugh had been going to college before he dropped out to pursue his own music career. That career had never amounted to much; there were times he was barely keeping his head above water. When he came across the announcement that Paul Stamets, of all people, would be holding auditions for a backup guitarist, he told himself that this was finally his chance for some real success. The truth was that he wouldn’t have spent the last two weeks scrounging up bus fare for just anyone. 

Ever since that first show he’d been nursing a bit of a professional crush on Paul. He kept a collection of any concert videos he could find online, carefully studying technique, trying to replicate his moves, enraptured at the flawless combination of chords that managed to touch something deep inside him. And, admittedly, studying the man himself a bit, too. The sharp cut of his jaw as he stepped to the microphone, the curve of his belly when he ripped his shirt open halfway through a show, the way his body moved to the music, not dancing in any conscious way, but involuntarily, as if the music had become a part of him. 

And he was doing it now, Hugh realized, and had been from almost the moment he’d started playing. The expression on Paul’s face could only be described as bliss, and the warmth of his gentle smile distracted Hugh almost to the point of missing a tricky chord change. But this song was firmly ingrained in his muscle memory, and his fingers danced across the strings as expertly as if it were one of his own.

Hugh thought everyone in the room would be able to hear the pounding in his chest as the last few notes faded away. He was sure of it when Paul stepped up to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “That was absolutely sublime. I’d almost forgotten that song even existed. If you have a day job, you’d better give ‘em a call, let them know you’re in a band now.” The bar Hugh had been working at a couple nights a week wasn’t even worth the call; he’d already skipped his last shift to come to this audition. “But that can wait. For now, how about a celebratory drink.”

“I—ah—” Hugh slipped his hands in his pockets, his fingers worrying the fabric. “I kind of spent the last of my cash getting down here, and…”

“Hey.” Paul took Hugh’s hands in his and looked him in the eye. “Celebratory. That means it’s my treat. I take it you’ll be needing a place to crash, too?”

***

Was that too forward? After all, Hugh had all but admitted he was broke. It was a logical conclusion. Still, Paul knew how it might look, to offer a man a job and immediately start coming onto him, so he kept a careful distance throughout the night, even as the alcohol made it hard for him to keep his hands to himself, hands that wanted to tangle in that thick hair and feel the flex of Hugh’s muscles. 

He motioned for Hugh to leave his bag beside the door as the entered the little studio apartment. “You can take the bed,” he said, “just let me have the pillow.”

Hugh laughed, and it was as infectious as his smile. “Why do you only have the one pillow?”

Paul shrugged. “I don’t exactly share that bed too often; I’m not really in town often enough to bother.”

Hugh fingered the corner of the pillowcase for a moment as he sat on the bed, then tossed the pillow gently to Paul. “So who do you share it with, when you do?”

Not that he would have guessed Hugh straight before, but that was so openly flirtatious it had to be the liquor talking. Not that he wouldn’t want to, God, he’d been thinking about it all night, but it wasn’t the time, and he didn’t want Hugh to regret this conversation in the morning. “That’s what everyone wants to know, isn’t it?” He grabbed an extra blanket from the foot of the bed and curled up on the floor, facing away from the bed, listening to Hugh’s breathing slow as he drifted off to sleep.

***

Hugh woke to find his pants were uncomfortably tight, and wished that he’d thought to change into his sweats before falling asleep. Or just gone without, he thought, glancing down at Paul on the floor. There’d been rumors for years that Paul was gay, or at least bi, but it was all tabloid bullshit that Hugh knew didn’t really mean anything.

That cryptic response that he’d given last night, though, to a question Hugh admittedly shouldn’t have asked… well, it didn’t confirm anything, but it certainly seemed to keep the possibility open.

Hugh rolled off of the bed and grabbed his bag before slipping into the bathroom, where he quickly rinsed off in the shower before throwing on some mostly clean, and certainly much more comfortable clothes.

By the time he came out, Paul was awake and fixing a bowl of cereal. “Good morning.” He looked Hugh up and down. “You know, I don’t know how you managed to fall asleep in those pants you had on last night. They sure didn’t leave much to the imagination.” 

Hugh desperately hoped his blush wasn’t visible as he shrugged and said, “It’s just a look.”

“It’s a good one. You wear that on stage, we’ll really draw a crowd. Help yourself, by the way,” Paul said, pointing at the handful of boxes on a shelf.

Hugh’s stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten anything since the burger he’d grabbed for lunch yesterday, save for a few pretzels at the bar, but he’d imposed enough on Paul already. “No, I’m fine.”

“Look, It’ll take a couple days to work out an advance for you, and I’m not about to just let you starve until then. Eat.” 

He poured himself a bowl and sat down at the table, trying to force his brain to process the fact that he was casually eating breakfast with Paul Stamets. In his apartment. And he was looking at Hugh, still bleary eyed, from under a fluffy mop of bedhead. “You should at least get to have your bed back, though,” Hugh offered.

“I’m not letting a guest sleep on the floor. My mother would kill me.”

“But I—” Hugh wasn’t sure what he was trying to protest. Maybe that he wasn’t so much a guest as a charity case?

Paul didn’t give him a chance to gather his thoughts, though, before reiterating, “No, Hugh. If you want me to sleep in that bed while you’re here, we’re gonna have to share it.”

Hugh swallowed, absolutely positive that the blush was visible now.

***

He ended up giving Hugh a bigger advance than he’d originally intended. Hugh had mentioned the motel he was considering, and Paul didn’t much like the stories he’d heard about the place, so he decided to present Hugh with a check for $2000 and a recommendation for some decent, but still affordable, lodging.

Paul had worried about having so little time to rehearse with a new band member, but it Hugh knew their catalog backward and forward, and picked up the new material almost as soon as he heard it. “You really have a gift, man,” he told Hugh after their last rehearsal session before leaving for tour. “I can’t believe it took this long for someone to notice it.”

“I’ve been in other bands before; they just never managed to break out of the regional circuit. Nothing like this.”

Paul looked away from Hugh. This is what he’d been worried about, hiring a fan. Trying to build them into something they weren’t. “I mean, we’re not playing stadiums or anything.”

“No, but you still tour nation-wide. And I know you have the talent. I’m lucky to be here with you… playing with you, I mean.”

Paul did not for one moment believe that was all Hugh had meant. Still, getting involved with a bandmate was a tricky thing. He hadn’t experienced it for himself, but he’d seen it play out enough times to be wary. He wasn’t going to discount the possibility entirely, but he also wasn’t going to make the first move. 

That said, he wasn’t blind to the way Hugh’s muscles contracted as he packed up his gear; he was wearing a sleeveless top today and those tattooed shoulders and biceps were hard to ignore. And Hugh had clearly noticed him staring. “What are you looking at?”

Paul shrugged. “Just kind of surprised you’re not a drummer. You’re definitely built like one.” 

“I’m glad I’m not. You didn’t need a drummer.”

“Nope.” Paul shook his head, letting his next words die in his throat. I needed you.

***

“I told you you’d draw a crowd,” Paul told him a few weeks into the tour. “Our next three dates are sold out! And two of those are bigger venues than we usually play.”

“How do you know that’s because of me?”

Paul handed his phone to Hugh. “Haven’t you been keeping up with our Facebook page? I swear, ninety percent of these replies are thirst posts.” 

He took the phone and glanced at the screen, and, well, Paul wasn’t wrong. “This is wild,” he laughed.

Paul nodded. “Yeah, it gets old after awhile, but it’s definitely a trip at first.”

“What gets old?” Hugh asked, handing the phone back. “Just the attention, or...” It wasn’t the smoothest transition, but it was the best opportunity he’d seen to get an idea of what made Paul tick, romantically.

“The artificiality of it. Don’t get me wrong; I love my fans. But the person they want is a persona on a stage. They don’t know who I really am. And honestly, most of them don’t care”

Hugh had once been in love with that persona. But in the past few weeks he’d come to know Paul’s generosity, dedication, and sense of humor were every bit the match of his looks and talent. He rested a hand on Paul’s shoulder, hoping he managed to make the gesture look casual. “But what if someone did care?” 

Paul looked up. “Is this a hypothetical, or did you have someone specific in mind?”

“Does that change the answer?”

“Maybe.” He lifted Hugh’s hand from his shoulder but didn’t release it, instead holding it in front of his face as their fingers twined together. “Hypothetically, it’s hard to find time to get to know someone that well when we’re touring like this. But,” and now his fingers danced across Hugh’s palm, thumb caressing the back of his hand, “if we were talking, say, about someone I was on tour with, as long as we could agree it’s not going to get in the way of the band, then yeah. I might give that a shot.

“Now, please tell me that you’re talking about yourself, or I’m gonna feel like a total dumbass.”

Hugh laughed out loud now, wrapping both of Paul’s hands in his and holding them in front of his chest, like they were the only thing that would keep his heart from leaping out. “Don’t worry, you can keep your dignity intact.”

“Wasn’t worried about that.” Paul leaned in now, planting a gentle kiss on Hugh’s lips. “Never had any.”

***

Paul was putting on a hell of a show. He always put on a hell of a show, of course; he was as skilled a performer as he was a musician. But there was something electric about tonight. It was the largest venue they’d played so far on this tour, and once again filled to the brim. And yet, Paul almost seemed not to notice they were there. It was as if he were performing just for Hugh. 

Ever since that first kiss, things had progressed well. Touring meant that close quarters were a way of life anyway, so if Hugh laid his head on Paul’s shoulder while reading in the back of the tour bus, or if their shared hotel rooms more often than not saw them in the same bed… Well, none of it was too far out of the ordinary. They’d made no attempt to make their relationship public, and Hugh realized he didn’t really need it to be. Just existing here, in the moment, with Paul, was enough.

Tonight, though, was something else. It was subtle, maybe, to someone who was less intimately familiar with Paul’s usual bearing, but Hugh knew what was performance and what wasn’t, and the manner he was displaying now was nothing less than genuine. Every step, every flip of his hair, every twitch of his hips felt so intimate that if Hugh hadn’t seen the man naked before he would have felt like a voyeur. All he could do, though, was marvel at the experience until the first set ended and they slipped backstage to wait for their encore.

“What’s got into you?” said Hugh with a smile, because Paul almost always evoked a smile in him. “It’s like you’re somewhere else tonight.”

“I am.” He placed a hand on Hugh’s chest, directly over his heart. “I’m right here.” Paul leaned closer, until his lips were right beside Hugh’s ear, letting out the smallest whisper. “I love you.”

And suddenly the sound of the screaming fans on the other side of the stage door was drowned out by his own heartbeat. Here he was, standing backstage at a 3,000 seat theater with Paul Stamets, who had just told him he loved him. And now Paul’s body was leaning against his, both of them sweaty from the energy of the set and the lights and the pure adrenaline of each other’s presence. And he pressed his mouth to Paul’s, tongue diving between those perfect lips, and his hands began snaking their way beneath Paul’s shirt. 

And then Paul stepped away, breaking free of the kiss. “We still have to finish the show.” At Hugh’s pout, he continued, “I told you. The band has to come first. After we’re done, though… oh, the things I want to do to you.”

Hugh wasn’t sure how he even managed to walk back onto the stage after that, much less how he remembered his chords. It had to be down to muscle memory at this point. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Paul. And though Paul wasn’t visibly distracted, it was still clear how eager he was to be finished and get backstage again. Between the way Paul was grinding against the microphone, and the absolute eye-fucking he gave Hugh when he introduced him just before closing the show, Hugh could feel his erection pressing uncomfortably against his tight jeans.

“Holy fuck,” Hugh whispered as the stage door closed behind them, and he leaned into Paul, pressing him into the wall and grinding against him.

“Happily,” Paul responded in a low voice, “but maybe not in the open, okay?”

Hugh nodded, not trusting himself to say more, and let Paul take him by the hand and lead him to their dressing room.

***

They were on the road the next day when Paul came across the headline. Has _Mycelial Network_ Frontman Paul Stamets Found Love? Complete with a picture of their kiss backstage during the intermission. 

“Who the hell took that?” asked Hugh, glancing over Paul’s shoulder. 

Paul shrugged. “Who knows? Not one of our people; they know better. Someone at the club looking for a quick buck. Honestly, I’m surprised it’s taken this long.” Hugh’s distressed look remained, however. “Shit. This isn’t gonna, like, out you to anyone, is it?”

Hugh shook his head. “No, it’s just… you’re used to all this. It’s a bit of a moment for me.”

“Yeah, I’m used to this shit. Still, it was nice having things just between us. It’ll probably die down after a while; rumors tend to.”

“It’s not just a rumor, though.” Hugh ran a hand across Paul’s hair and kissed his cheek. 

“No, it’s not.” He took Hugh’s hand. “I really do love you. And even if this does die down, we’re not gonna be able to hide it forever. Maybe we shouldn’t try to.”

“You sound like you’re planning something.”

“There’s something I’ve wanted to do for a while. Nothing I’d do without your permission, though, of course.” Paul chewed his lip, wondering how Hugh would react. Still, the worst that could happen was that he would say no. “I want to kiss you on stage. And it’s crazy, because I don’t put myself out there like that, don’t ever let something that real into a show. But now... something about you makes me want to.”

Hugh kissed him on the lips now, and rested his head on Paul’s shoulder, and Paul could feel Hugh’s tears soaking through the fabric of his T-shirt. “I first saw you perform six years ago,” he said, “and I was mesmerized. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not just you—your energy, the way you moved, the way you were part of the music.”

“You fell for the spectacle.”

“Yeah, I did. And the more I thought about it, the less I could imagine doing anything else. I dropped out of school and started auditioning. It was a stupid thing to do,” he chuckled. “I realize that even now. But now I’m here, with you, and it all started all those years ago, and this is probably starting to sound really creepy…”

“Not at all. Having that kind of impact on someone means a lot to me, no matter what.” He took Hugh’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “But you still haven’t said yes or no.” 

“Because it’s still so hard to believe this is happening. That you want to proclaim, on stage, how you feel about me.”

“We’ve got that festival in California coming up; it’ll be a bigger crowd than usual. How’s that sound?”

“Incredible.”

***

“And finally, I want to thank Hugh for joining me on guitar. And for more than that. This wonderful man has recently come into my life, fulfilling me in so many ways, and I feel the need to share with you all the tremendous love and appreciation that I have for him.” Paul placed a hand on Hugh’s hip, pulling him close, then let the hand slide up to the back of his head to draw him in for the kiss. “So now, I’d like to play something I haven’t played in a while. A song that means a lot to the both of us.” And Paul began to pluck out the opening notes of the song Hugh had played at his audition months ago, the song that brought them together.


End file.
